


Quiznak, The Ratatouille Guy is Hot

by oj_lod



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chef!Lance, Comedy, Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Food critic!Keith, Hunk is Gordan Ramsay, Hunk is suffering, Kissing, Lance tries, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Swearing, The Galra empire is a chain of restaurants, background shallura/hunay, bi lance, everyone is a mess, gratuitous ratatouille references, hey look it's the title, if you can even call it that, keith is confused, lots of food descriptions, minimal angst, puns, the restaurant au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oj_lod/pseuds/oj_lod
Summary: (Currently on hold, do really want to do this fic but also not so heavy into the fandom and stuff)Lance McClain is a simple guy. He's also simply out of cash. Lucky for him, his best friend happens to own a restaurant. A really, really nice restaurant. And sure, maybe Hunk is a little too kind and maybe Lance isn't qualified to work at a place with a Michelin star, but his mama’s cooking has to count for something, right?Enter Keith Kogane, a notorious food critic that grates (ha) on Lance the moment they meet. Unfortunately for Lance, he also happens to be hotter than the chili sauce someone accidently poured into his gazpacho.OrLance is a chef, Keith is a food critic, and Hunk is suffering.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! My first work (on ao3), wow. After getting dragged into Voltron hell, I guess it had to happen eventually. A few quick notes before we begin:  
> -This work is in no way designed to showcase Lance being bad at his job. He's learning, and his improvement will come naturally. Competent and capable Lance is best Lance!  
> -Due to the role played, multiple pronouns are used for Pidge  
> -I'm NOT an expert on the culinary world. I just really like food, and I try and do my research. Feel free to correct me!  
> That being said, enjoy this silly plotbunny that threatened to destroy everything if I didn't write it down!

So here's the thing.  
Objectively, Lance is a good cook. He's never burned spaghetti. He can toss a salad. He makes a bomb-ass enchilada sauce, thank you very much. And yeah, the customers of _Chateâteu Lion_ probably weren't going to be swayed by his instant ramen skills. And yeah, maybe Hunk is a little too nice, but he absolutely loves his job, and Lance is happy to help. Change is important. Change is good. 

He reminds himself of this as the pan behind him goes up in glorious flame.

For a second he wonders if he could roll with this. Lots of fancy dishes are supposed to be set on fire, right? _Your pork chop en flambé, mademoiselle._ That hope is smothered with the flames, as Coran leans over to extinguish them both. In his humble opinion, the sous chef’s mustache is an atrocious violation of health codes, so what does he know, anyway? Lance grabs a fork, poking the pork chop with limited results. The doors swing open, and a stab of awareness suddenly ripples through the kitchen. He doesn't look behind him but instead joins everyone else in redoubling his efforts. He quickly slides the ruined meat over onto Coran’s station, adding an inconspicuous whistle in hopes of helping his case. The older man just sighs and tosses it to the side. He throws Lance an affectionately reprimanding look but says nothing. Behind them, footsteps patter, coming to a stop behind one of the station chefs, Sal.  
Executive Chef Garrett takes a spoonful of Sal’s soup. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance can see the man holding his breath, turning slightly purple.  
“Needs more salt. Remember to plate it properly! Cooking is an art.” Chef Garrett is clear and concise, leaving no room to argue, though he isn't unkind.  
“Yes, chef!” He bustles on, stepping to his second-in-command.  
“Coran.” He examines the pork chops, then smiles. “That's what I like to see!”  
“Yes, chef!” Coran’s eyes have gone sparkly with pride.  
“Alright, let's do this! I want this kitchen running like clockwork. Rumor has it some very important people are coming tonight, and we don't want any complaints. Understood?”  
“YES, CHEF!” Everyone begins chopping, searing, broiling and stirring with renewed enthusiasm.  
“Lance!” Oh, joy. “A word?” Lance wipes his hands on his apron, knowing full well he just left two long grease stains, and follows the executive chef out of the kitchen and into a small back foyer.  
“Chef?” Hunk rolls his eyes.  
“You don't have to do that now, Lance!”  
“Aw, but what if I want to? I'm proud of ya!” He elbows his friend in the side.  
“ _Chef de Cuisine_ , eh?” Hunk blushes, despite Lance’s admittedly poor pronunciation. You can't be good at every latin language, alright?  
“I guess it's been coming for a while.”  
“I'll say! Those old Alteans would have to be totally nuts not to promote you!” Hunk blushes even more, bringing his hands up and tapping his fingers.  
“They've been really good to me.” He looks nervous suddenly. “Was I too harsh in there? I'm still not really used to giving orders.” The sentence is filled with entirely too much fidgeting and throat-clearing to allow for the casual air the attempts. Lance waves him off gently.  
“Relax, big guy! You're a natural. Besides, the day you're too harsh is the day I deserve it above all else. So don't sweat it!”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Hunk fakes annoyance, but his friend can actually see the anxiety slip out of his shoulders. Making Hunk stand a little taller might be one of the best feelings in the world.  
“So is that all you wanted to tell me?” Please, please let that be it.  
“Ah, nope.”  
_Well, screw you too, life._  
“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Just because you're still new and everything!”  
“Not because I turned a pork chop into charcoal like some strange kitchen Jesus?”  
“You what?”  
Nothing! Look, Hunk. Buddy. I'm good! I'll get the hang of it, they don't call me Learnin Lance for nothing.”  
“Nobody calls you that.”  
“Anyway, you've got bigger fish to fry, in both the metaphorical and literal sense. So go and do your awesome epic boss things, and I'll make some meat you can eat, imagine that!”  
“Okay, Lance. Just one thing?”  
“Yup?” Hunk fixed him with a hard stare, his voice low and level.  
“You hurt my kitchen and I _will_ come after you, McClain.”

\----

Lance is managing. He got Hunk to chill out a bit, which means he can't be the reason his best friend goes back into panic mode.  
A few cut fingers, another ultra-fried pork chop and several popping veins in Coran’s forehead eventually results in a plated meal. It looks...good. Shockingly so. The meat is tender, the garnish is fresh, and there's not a single drop of blood anywhere on it. A little victory grin makes its way across Lance’s face. Hunk looks at him approvingly.  
“Not bad.”  
“Thank you, Chef!” Hunk’s pleased expression gets a little bigger before he snaps back to poker face.  
“Keep up the good work.” Lance preens secretly. He can do this.  
A moment later, Coran makes a little “ah” sound.  
“Lance, the Alteans are coming through, best behavior!” The boy in question sends the plate on its way and turns to grab paprika from the top shelf. He's met Alfor Altea before, and the guy will hardly care if Lance doesn't greet him. Then, Coran gasps again.  
“Allura!”  
And _damn_. Instead of old-man Alfor in the doorway, it's a frankly stunning woman, perhaps just slightly older than Lance. She's dressed professionally, fluffy hair pulled back into a neat bun, contrasting sharply with dark skin. Her blue eyes are sharp, and her mouth quirks up in a pleasant way. She radiates power and precision, and is, in summary, pretty friggin gorgeous. 

Coran, the lucky man, goes in for a hug. He tosses down his towel, eyes lighting up as he opens his arms.  
“Hello, Coran!” Allura returns his hug with equal warmth.  
“I didn't know you were coming down this weekend! It's always good to see you!”  
“Yes, well,” She frowns lightly. “I'm afraid father needed all the help he could get. The Galra really seem to like this place"  
“Well, we certainly have good food.Those ruffians may not have much taste, but a rat could tell you as much.” Coran harrumphs, twirling his health-code-violating mustache for emphasis.  
Allura laughs lightly, and very prettily, Lance might add. There’s a hint of bitterness to it that stays in the air for a moment.  
“Unfortunately, they seem intent on buying us up. They really _are_ crazy if they think Father will let this place become one of their chains, but...It's bad enough they own half the bloody market!” Coran nods sympathetically. Allura looks thoroughly deflated for a moment, but before it drags on she straightens, tucking her hair behind her ears and flashing a brilliant, determined smile.  
“Well, no time for that!” She grabs an apron off the hook. “We’re still short-staffed, so I'll cover a few tables. Tell Hunk to make more of that foie de gras, will you, Coran?”  
“Yes, ma'am!”  
“Alright!” She turns, and as she does, her ocean eyes finally fall on Lance. “Oh, I didn’t know we’d gotten another chef! And you are?” Her smile is as kind as can be. Lance, of course, manages to ruin that by opening his mouth.  
“The name’s Lance. And your name must be skillet, ‘cause you are sizzlin!” He completes the line with finger guns and an eyebrow wiggle.  
“Allura, not interested.” She walks away, her voice carrying over her shoulder. “The sink next to you is overflowing.” Lance gives a very manly squeak and goes into damage control. Coran is glaring daggers at him, but he pointedly ignores the chef’s gaze.  
“She's something else.”  
“Sure. But she’s also never going to date you.” Coran's voice is borderline accusatory.  
“Oh, yee of little faith.”  
“Lance!”  
“Kidding, kidding.” He waves one hand around, the other fumbling for the sink plug. “She’s wayyyy out of my league anyway, no hard feelings.” Coran nods, apparently satisfied.  
“She’s a nice girl.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, something like that. I’ve been friends with Alfor for ages, and I’ve known Allura just as long. Besides,” He adds with a nudge. “she’s taken, and her boyfriend could kill you with one hand.”  
“Noted.”  
“Though,” He’s twirling his mustache again. “I suppose she could, too.”

The restaurant closes a few hours later. Now, it’s nearing midnight, and a thick, sleepy blanket hangs in the air around the remaining staff. It’s oddly peaceful this late. Hunk, bless his soul, let most people off early. Lance sticks around because that’s just the kind of best friend he is. So, when Hunk approaches him to go through their business inbox, he’s happy to help.  
“You're the best.”  
“I know.” He slides into the old, ratty office chair, making sure to complete three full spins before swinging his legs up to the desk. Allura sweeps them off as she walks by. She has a spray bottle of Clorox in one hand, so he decides not to test her. He cracks his knuckles, sighing and leaning back, before opening the inbox and starting to scroll. 

_(12) new messages_

Lance filters through quickly, discarding a few of the ever-present offers to buy up the place via Galra funds. There’s one spam mail that somehow managed to sneak it’s way in, followed by two seemingly unrelated messages. He shrugs, clicking the first one.

_From: paladinofficial@voltron.com  
Subject: Article_

Pidge Gunderson here! Just shooting you a message to tell you my piece got published! You can check it out at the attached link. Thanks for the free food!  
-P.G.

Lance squints at the screen.  
“Hey, who's ‘Pidge Gunderson’?” Hunk shuffles over, quickly scanning over his shoulder.  
“Oh, hey, that’s cool! It’s a writer’s pseudonym, he works for the _Paladin_.”  
“That news website?”  
“Uh-huh. He usually talks about the tech industry, but he did a piece on how we're ‘integrating futuristic technology and methods into classic, high-end cooking.’”  
“That's cool. You gave him free food?” Hunk laughs.  
“His assistant, Katie, came in and took pictures. I may have given her chocolate mousse in hopes of a good review.” Lance snorts, turning back to the keyboard and typing out a short response thanking “Pidge” for his glowing review. His eyes travel back down the feed, clicking on the second email. To his surprise, it isn’t unrelated at all. The name is vaguely familiar but doesn’t strike a chord.

_From: kogane@voltron.com  
Subject: Review_

Hello,  
My name is Keith Kogane. I saw your article in the Paladin, and I'd be very interested in reviewing your food myself. You may contact me at the above email address to discuss the details. I look forward to hearing from you.

Lance’s fingers hover over the keyboard hesitantly. The email is short and to the point, in a way that sets the young chef oddly on edge. He finds himself gritting his teeth as he calls Hunk over again. Allura reappears behind them with a smudge of dirt on her cheek and dust bunnies in her hair.  
“Keith Kogane?” Hunk inhales, the sound quickly turning into a squeak. “Holy crap.”  
Allura leans down, her long hair brushing the keyboard. Her eyes go impossibly wide. Lance feels as if he’s missing some punchline, and it bothers him even more than Kogane’s stupid way of writing.  
“That's the guy that--”  
“Roasted a four-star chef’s method of roasting peppers?”  
“And--”  
“Punched that creepy food truck owner?”  
“What on Earth does he want with our food?” Allura questions. Hunk shrugs, bouncing a little.  
“I’m not sure, but we should reply like, right now. This guy’s famous. Brutal honesty and stuff. You know he got his start reviewing _cafeteria food_?” Lance frowns deeper.  
“Sounds like an ass.”  
“I mean, you could say that about most critics. Do you know, he went to Garrison to get a culinary degree, even though he didn’t need one? He got kicked out for insulting a teacher’s technique.”  
“Alright, alright, he’s cool, I get it! I’ll google him later. So, what do I have to say to get him to orgasm over your food, huh?” Hunk makes a socially appropriate face at Lance’s word choice. Allura doesn’t seem phased.  
“Just work out the details. Try to keep it professional, please?”  
“Please, princess, I’m a professional at being professional.” Hunk groans.  
“Alright, we’re going back to the storage closet.”  
“Cool. See if you can find 18-year-old me back there while you’re at it.” 

_From: chateaulion@voltron.com  
Subject: Re:Review_

Dear Mr. Kogane,  
Thank you for your kind offer. We would certainly love to arrange something with you. Please contact us with dates that would work for you.  
-Lance McClain, Range Chef  
(P.S. Prepare to have your socks blown off, cafeteria boy)


End file.
